


Glass Heart

by ifinkufreaky



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, rating will increase in future chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-12 10:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky
Summary: Reader is a shieldmaiden who has been spending a lot of extra time training with Ubbe, afraid to trust the feelings that might be developing between them... All chapters T until the last one, when they finally consummate their feelings in Explicit waysThis is set outside of the canon timeline and without any references to Margrethe. Just assume I'm going with a timeline where she doesn't exist.





	1. Chapter 1

 

  


THUNK

The blade lands in the wood of your shield again, the impact ringing down your arm, rattling your chest and making your skull shudder unsettlingly against your neckbones. It sends a fresh jolt through your already-ringing headache, but the jarring strike is exactly what you want; your assailant’s blade is now stuck in the dense oak of your shield.

Your tired throat screeches out a battle cry as you step into the taller man’s frame, twisting your shield with a savage jerk as you attempt to disarm him and knock him over in the same movement.

His feet dance away and his large hand lands heavily on your shoulder.

“Almost. You almost had me that time, Y/N,” Ubbe says, voice ragged with exertion but still attempting to be encouraging. His fingers close around the bones of your shoulder, shaking you just a little as he leans in to catch you with his sparkling eyes. “Again.”

You drop the edge of the shield to the ground of the training yard, wavering just a little on your feet. “I am almost exhausted, and I can barely feel my arm.” You don’t like to complain, but you can feel your limit approaching. Tears are stinging at the back of your eyes, and you turn your head so that the prince you admire so much will not see. “If I could not pull off this maneuver when my strength was full, surely it will be impossible by now.” You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been drilling the move with Ubbe tonight, and you haven’t successfully knocked him down once.

Ubbe’s eyes, kind yet challenging, chase your gaze. “If you want to fight in the shield wall, you will have to lift that arm until someone disconnects it from your body.” His eyes flick across your shoulders and down your legs, softening with something that looks like appreciation. “I know you have more strength left in you. Again.” He presses one boot to the edge of your shield so he can rip his sword out of the wood. Then he steps back and brandishes it playfully, like he’s not almost as tired as you are.

Ubbe’s grin is infectious and you find yourself smiling back, or at least gritting your teeth at him, as you lift the great shield up to the ready once more. You ignore the screaming of your muscles as you hoist the weight. Your prince is right; you will have to push harder than this in battle. This is why he drills you every evening, until tears leak from the corners of your eyes and the weapons fall numb from your stiffened fingers.

You’ve been too afraid to ask why your prince has taken you aside for these private lessons; you know what you want his reason to be but you fear the disappointment if you are wrong more than you fear falling in battle. So you never ask. And every evening, the two of you train like this, eyes locked and teeth clenched.

With a sudden shout Ubbe raises his sword and shifts his weight to come at you again. Even feigning his battlefield ferocity he is impressive, intimidating even after repeating the same move dozens of times. His patience impresses you too; no matter how many repeats of this maneuver he acts like he’s not expecting it, as your Saxon opponents won’t be. Where the sword should glance off the wooden board you twist at the last moment, absorbing another screaming impact in your shoulder as you make sure the blade lodges in the wood.

This time, you recover from the painful shock quickly enough to step in and jerk the shield while Ubbe’s grip is still on the hilt, while his stomach is close enough to contact with the lower rim as you throw your weight into knocking him off of his feet.

You almost can’t believe you’ve finally done it, as you stare down at the winded Ragnasson sprawled on the ground at your feet. In a real battle you’ve have been done for, standing there struggling to think, but Ubbe stays flat on his back and counterattacks only with his wide grin.

You hear yourself  _giggle_  and you toss the shield aside, then collapse on the soft ground beside him. It’s over. You  _did it._  

You splay your arms out and the back of your hand lands in Ubbe’s palm. You know you should pull away, but you don’t. You’ll blame the exhaustion in your shield arm if he says anything.

But he doesn’t. Ubbe’s hand twitches once like he might withdraw, then his fingers close decisively around yours instead. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and shift, twisting your arm so your hands can line up better. Ubbe presses his warm palm against yours, squeezing your fingers with a comforting strength.

“I told you that you could do it,” he says. You are still looking at the sky, pretending this intimate touch isn’t happening, but you can tell that the prince has turned his face toward yours.

“After more than a dozen tries,” you say just a little bitterly. You keep your eyes on the clouds. If you make eye contact while you are holding hands, someone might have to admit something, and you aren’t ready for that yet.

“And next time you will succeed after only a few tries,” he says solemnly. His thumb is tracing the back of your hand. “And soon you will be able to do it in your sleep.”

“So now you’re making me train even in bed?” You realize what you’ve implied almost as soon as you’ve said it, and your cheeks redden as you become aware of every inch of skin touching your prince’s as his grip spasms slightly against yours.

“That… could be…” he stutturs.

Now you’ve knocked the mighty Prince Ubbe off balance for the second time in the same evening. You should be enjoying it but your cheeks are only flushing an even darker crimson and you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I should be getting back,” you choke out, starting to sit up. Your hand doesn’t seem to want to let his go, but the rest of your body is already getting ready to stand.

You stare dumbly at your interwoven fingers, his rough hand making yours look so small. Ubbe says your name softly but you can’t think through the rushing sound in your ears. There must be some mistake, you think. Ubbe would never be interested in a girl like you.

You tear your reluctant fingers from his grip and rush to carry the shield back to the stand at the edge of the training yard. “I will see you at training tomorrow, yes?” you call as you all but run from the man.

“Of course,” you hear him answer, a bit forlornly.

You risk one glance back at Ubbe in your hasty retreat. He is standing tall and still, holding himself with care like he’s trying not to spook a large animal. His eyes are still so kind, though now you’ve muddled their usual clarity with surprise, confusion. But you can’t seem to stop your feet from carrying you away.


	2. Chapter 2

 

  


You regret it almost as soon as you’ve done it, but you just couldn’t resist that thick rope of blonde hair dangling between Ubbe’s shoulders as he stands with his back to you in the empty training yard, chugging a cup of water. You’re both tired from the extra round of practice you’ve just completed after everyone else went home for dinner, but apparently there is still a little energy left for mischief.

His hair is smoother than you expected against your palm, though you don’t get long to admire it. Your fist drops in a firm tug on the braid that produces an almost instant roar from the man, and suddenly you realize that you need to duck and run  _now._  You’re laughing nervously as you spin on your heel and try to launch yourself away from the prince whom you have surely angered, who is surely about to turn and retaliate against your sneaky assault on his royal person.

Your feet don’t seem to move fast enough. Ubbe’s arms come crashing around you as you continue to giggle, your own hands coming up to fend him off. “Oh, you are not getting away with that,” he teases, trying to settle you into a tight grip against his chest so he can lift you off of your feet.

Ubbe is taller and stronger than you; your best bet is to get him onto the ground quickly and try to subdue him there. You can feel his breath against your neck as you twist in his grip and stick your leg behind his, worming your way against him into a good angle for a take-down. A new thrill of adrenaline cuts through your end-of-day fatigue as you feel your leverage lining up properly, then with a shout you push at just the right angle to turn his body weight against him and guide his heavy frame to the ground.

If you were just practicing, Ubbe would have rolled with it, but you can see in the flash of his eyes as he falls over your leg that this time he is playing for keeps. He flings his arm up, gets a grip at the back of your neck as he descends that forces you to come crashing down with him, the roots of your hair screaming and the sharp bite of your knee against the ground adding a little dose of intensity to the game you had started with such innocent attentions.

Still, you have landed mostly on top of him so you have a chance yet to maintain control. One of his arms ends up pinned under your leg as you scramble to straddle Ubbe’s chest quickly, setting your weight solidly over your knees. Your best move now is to get your hands around his throat and force him to tap out for mercy. You hunch over him, hands scrambling at his neck while you try to fend off his attempts to do the same with his one free hand. Your eyes are fixed on one another’s, teeth bared in savage smiles as you both do your best to get the advantage here without causing any real pain or lasting damage to each other.

You see his face change into a confident smirk as his hand withdraws, and before you can get a decent hold on him Ubbe gives you a mighty buck with hips. You sat too high up on his chest so now he is able to send your body flying over his head. You’re forced to give up your grip on his neck to reach up and catch yourself, stop your own face from landing straight in the dirt.

You roll with it and do your best to scramble to your feet even before you’ve regained your sense of which way is down, knowing that Ubbe will upon you in moment. You’re not fast enough. The prince’s arms are on your shoulders now, forcing you into the ground as his body moves to cover yours more completely.

You push and punch at his flanks, but with Ubbe’s powerful hands holding your shoulders you can’t get enough leverage to even bother him. He’s staring down at you with this ferocious kind of smugness, waiting for you to admit you’ve been bested.

You shift your feet and do your best to buck him off the way he had just done to you, but his center of gravity is lower and you cannot produce enough power for that one either. You struggle in vain for a few more moments before you realize that you have to admit it. He’s won.

You release a tiny groan and let your body relax, focusing on the crease between his eyebrows because Ubbe’s icy blue eyes are sometimes too beautiful to look at directly. The two of you practice grappling often, and this is usually signal enough that you have yielded, that the contest is over.

Ubbe doesn’t roll off of you this time. You feel his hands flex a little around your shoulders and you search his face for the meaning of this. The prince is staring at you with a strange, fascinated look that makes your skin feel prickly and your stomach flip in an oddly pleasant way. You are suddenly so conscious of the way his warm body rests against yours. You touch each other all the time when you are sparring but in a flash, everything feels different. Ubbe’s belly is nestled between your thighs, you can feel his chest rise and fall against your ribs. Your hands are still frozen where they had been occupied in pushing him away, palms melded to the straining flank muscles holding the prince hovering above your face.

His head dips closer to yours and your body flinches. It’s not that you haven’t privately longed for him to kiss you, not that you didn’t fall asleep last night remembering the feeling of his hand clasped in yours, but the reality of it still terrifies you. Ubbe stops as soon as he notices. His eyes go soft and wary, like last night, and he retracts his head but makes no move to get off you.

“Tell me, Y/N, why do I never see you with a man?” his voice rumbles in the small space between your chests, his eyes caressing your cheeks as well as his lips might have done if you hadn’t stopped him. “The other shieldmaidens, they go off with one of us sometimes. Why do I never see you do this? Are you waiting for someone?”

You have to look away from him, or it will be impossible to think. “I want to be a great warrior,” you say, staring at the faded leather overlapping his shoulder. “I am not thinking about love right now. I am not ready to start a family.” You see his mouth twist in a mischievous grin, and you can imagine exactly what kind of argument a playboy like Ubbe Ragnarsson might be about to make. You keep talking to head him off. “I do not want to risk getting pregnant, then I couldn’t fight. So, I do not bother to even look at men.” And then you look him straight in the eyes again. Trying to look fierce. Trying to ignore the heat building between your legs.

Ubbe drops his forehead until it’s almost touching yours. You feel your body start to tense, your hands twitching over his ribs and you’re not sure if they are trying to push him off or caress him. You are feeling desperate urges to do both. “You do know, Y/N,” he says, voice gone low and gravelly, that smirk still shining in his eyes, “that not everything that lovers do creates a baby?”

A grin breaks over your prince’s face. He is teasing you.

“Get off me, Ubbe,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut and twisting under him until he rocks to his side and you can escape.

For a moment you had let yourself believe it, that Ubbe Ragnarsson might desire you. And maybe he had, in that moment, but you knew better. You knew it couldn’t last. And so why let it start?


	3. Chapter 3

 

  


 

The next time you see Ubbe, his chiseled face is wavering as you peer at him through the smoke of the spring  _blot_  bonfire. His smile when he recognizes you is like the sun breaking through clouds. He tips his head like he’s about to communicate something to you, but your friends are already pulling you away, toward the feast table.

This festival celebrates the end of winter; its magic focuses on preparation for the summer season of growing and raiding. You know which of those two is your priority. You can almost taste the blood of your enemies spattered on your lips, already starting to hear the clangs and thuds of battle in the crackling bonfire. Spring is the season of possibilities, and your blood is already quickening in readiness.

Your sister and her friend, who accompany you, are not dreaming the same kind of dreams. “Let us sit down here,” your sister says softly, pulling at your elbow and drawing you down to an empty bench. Her eyes are fixed on a young man as you settle your plates on the table; you recognize him as one of the blacksmith’s sons, who she has been swooning over for months.

“Are you going to ask him?” her friend inquires, following the girl’s gaze.

Your sister smooths her dress, plain and simple but dyed a color that brings out the spark in her eyes. “I am hoping he will be the one to ask me. From here, he will have to notice me as soon as he looks up.”

“He won’t,” you say bitterly to your sister. “He knows who our father was. He is not going to pick you.”

Your sister glares at you, hurt trickling under the anger she’s showing. “Don’t say that. He likes me, I know it. And nobody cares about that anymore, anyway. He will come ask me, you will see.”

Her friend snorts a little. “You two certainly waited until the last minute. Thorstein asked me last week, if I wanted him to be the one to kiss me this year. I think he spent all morning seeking out flowering trees.” Her eyes fall on the boy in question, and his face reddens as he returns her shy smile. Then she looks up at you. “And what about you, Y/N, do you favor anyone?”

You frown at the mixture of uncomfortable feelings the question brings up. “I am not going to do the ritual this year.”

Your companions look at you dumbly, your little sister’s brow creasing in concern. “But if you don’t, you will be barren and dry all this year. No one will want you.”

“What need have I for some silly fertility ritual?” you fire back. “I don’t need the ground prepared. I am not planning to marry, I do not wish to bear children, not for some time at least.”

The eccentric man seated in the group behind your sister turns around, locking eyes with you. Floki the boatbuilder. “The ritual is not just for babies, you know.” To have caught his attention, you must have been arguing louder than you had thought. His mischievous face turns kind, and only a little condescending, as he continues to speak. “When a woman receives a kiss under a tree in bloom on this night, it counteracts the winter in every part of her. It will quicken your limbs and your spirit, not just your womb, little shieldmaiden.”

Part of you wants to keep arguing, but Floki’s knowledge of magic and the ways of the gods is known, and well-respected. You force yourself to listen to what he has to say.

“It will bring you luck,” he continues. “Even if your only goal is to fight and raid this summer, you will need this blessing, yes?” He nods his head and you find yourself nodding along with him. He giggles and gives you his crooked smile, the one that always reminds you of his trickster-god namesake. “If you do not have anyone tonight, I can give you a kiss, after I bless my beloved Helga of course.” The blonde sitting next to him finally starts to pay attention, arcing one eyebrow at her husband before turning her kindly face toward you too.

You flush, feeling awkward, unsure of what to say next.

A familiar hand sliding over your shoulder saves you. “I will take care of Y/N,” Prince Ubbe says, stepping up to stand beside your seat. He spares one smile for his father’s friend before turning his rich gaze down to your face. “If she’ll have me, of course.”

You lick your lips, throat suddenly feeling parched. You feel your sister squirming with glee beside you. You haven’t necessary told her about your feelings for Ubbe, you can barely admit them to yourself, but your stammering answers when she pressed you about all the extra time you two had been spending together had certainly given her an impression.

Something cracks inside your chest as you gaze at the hope in his eyes, an amber warmth spilling out and rushing to your limbs. “I would be honored, my Prince.” Your voice is quiet and strange but you know there is no way you could have given any other answer, not with him looking at you this way.

“Well that settles it,” you hear Floki say, but you cannot tear yourself away from the joy you see bubbling up in Ubbe’s face at your agreement. You feel more than see Helga and him turn back to their previous conversation.

There is an awkward silence as you and Ubbe continue to search each other’s faces, staring dumbly at each other with smiles that are quickly fading from triumphant to nervous. No one seems to know what to say next. Your greasy hand hovers over your half-eaten plate, a forgotten bit of meat still pinched between your fingers. You would invite Ubbe to sit with you but there is no room left at the table. His warm hand is still resting comfortably on your shoulder, and after another silent moment he lifts it to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek. “I will find you when it is time, then,” he says, voice deeper and softer than usual. Then he lifts his eyes from yours, nods to your companions, and walks off to rejoin his brothers.

The glee in your sister’s face when you turn back to her looks almost painful. She squeals your name and catches your hand in hers. “What did you keep telling me about all those extra training sessions with Prince Ubbe? ‘It’s nothing special?’ That certainly looked special to me!”

You can’t help but return your sister’s smile, but you are already feeling a little bit sick. She still doesn’t understand things about men that you do.

“You’ll have to eat your words now, about nobody wanting us because of our father,” the little brat continues. “If a prince can look past it, then certainly--”

Your sister’s friend cuts her off with an elbow to the ribs. “Your beau is getting up now,” she hisses. “Fluff your hair up, I think he’s coming over here.”

 

The rest of the feast is a blur for you, knowing what’s to come when the embers of the bonfire grow low. You take only small sips from the skins of sweet mead being passed around, determined to keep a clear head for your big moment with Ubbe. You are terrified that it will be a disaster, but even your fear cannot trap that golden hummingbird of hope rising up through your ribs.

When people start lighting torches in the great fire’s embers, you know he will be coming for you. A jolt of anxiety rips through your chest as you immediately second-guess the arrogance of that thought. What if he’s changed his mind? Found someone better to take to a secluded grove and kiss under floral-scented branches? Someone more beautiful, with softer hands and more domestic inclinations. A future Queen who wants to keep his home warm and waiting for him as he sails off to battle, not one who would insist on trudging along at his side. Someone who would be more interested in singing lullabies to his children than in screaming death songs to his enemies.

You spot Ubbe before he sees you, threading his way through the milling bodies in the dimness of twilight. Your sister and her friend have already headed off into the woods with their chosen partners, and you do not expect either of them to be returning too quickly. The ritual requires only a kiss, but plenty of young lovers take the opportunity each year to seek the favor of the gods using more than just their lips.

You had failed to see the point of that in previous years, had never felt moved to do more than share a quick peck with any of the village boys that had been your partners for the custom before. But watching the masterful shift of Prince Ubbe’s shoulders as he pushes past the other passers in the crowd, you think that this year the ritual might feel somewhat different.  _If_ it’s still you that he is searching for.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: By the way this spring ritual was inspired by a Czech tradition for Walpurgisnacht, according to Wikipedia. My cursory internet research said there’s not much from the primary sources about how the ancient Vikings celebrated the spring equinox, so when I found this “kissing under a blossoming tree or you’ll be dried up all year” Germanic thing I decided to use some artistic license and add it in as a tradition at Kattegat too.

  


 

You feel frozen to the ground as you watch Ubbe approach. You like to think of yourself as an assertive person, but right now it feels like all you can do is hold still and wait for him to notice you. If you call out to him, only to find that he was actual searching for another woman, you are not sure your heart could take it.

Before he comes close enough to spot you, a high-pitched voice rings over the crowd. “Ubbe!” she draws out the initial “ooh” until it almost sounds like a noise one would make in the throes of passion. Alva. One of the most beautiful girls in the village. She has so many of the boys sighing over her; if her sights are set on Ubbe now, all your hopes are certainly lost.

You watch with a feeling like a stone sinking in your belly as the girl steps up to your prince, runs her delicate hands up his chest, wrapping over his shoulders and whispering something into his ear. Ubbe’s face twists into an amused smile and he grasps her around the waist. He shakes his head no, but he’s still smiling. She giggles at whatever he just said. Then his big hands push her away from him, narrowed eyes searching the crowd again until finally they land on you.

His face lights up. He says something to Alva without looking away, begins to march directly toward you with eager strides.

“Later, then,” you hear Alva call to his back, but he doesn’t even shrug a shoulder in acknowledgment.

You are used to the anticipation of battle, so the way that your heart is pounding out of your chest as Ubbe approaches you shouldn’t be this overwhelming. But in battle, you know what to expect. The look in your prince’s eyes is something so unfamiliar that the urge to run in the other direction is greater than what you’ve felt when your life was actually at stake. The present danger to your heart feels infinitely more terrifying.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Ubbe asks as he steps up to you, excitement beaming from his eyes as he holds out his hand.

You stare at it for a moment before placing yours inside. Your fingers are engulfed immediately in his solid and reassuring grip. I _t’s just Ubbe,_  you tell yourself. You throw each other across the forest floor on a daily basis; a little hand-holding should be nothing. But it’s not nothing, not as he uses it to draw you gently to your feet and into the warmth surrounding his body, not when his other palm comes to rest at the small of your back to guide you off to the left when everyone else is going right.

You hesitate as you start to leave the heat of the bonfire. “Are we going the right way?”

Ubbe flashes his teeth, inclines his head conspiratorially toward yours. “Do you really want to be surrounded by all these people?” You shiver at the implications of his grin. “I know of a different grove. This way.”

You keep walking, off where the full moon provides the only illumination. Your hand is still tucked inside Ubbe’s and it feels so strange, so intimate. Nervously you release your grip, offering to pull away, giving him an out.

Ubbe pauses his step, squeezes harder and flashes you a playful look with creased brow.  _What are you doing? Don’t you trust me?_  his face teases.

His playful face is more familiar than that earnest anticipation he came at you with earlier. You feel yourself relax under his laughing eyes and tighten your own grip around his fingers. This is your hand’s rightful place, right now.

As you walk deeper into the forest, you begin to miss the bonfire’s warmth. The chill of winter still resides out here under the trees.

Ubbe notices you rubbing your arm absentmindedly. “Cold? Here, take my fur,” he says, sweeping the rich, pelt-lined cloak off his shoulders before you have time to protest.

“No, I’m alright,” you try to say, but he is already sweeping it around you, wrapping the delicious trapped heat of his own body around yours. The soft fur caresses your neckline and brings the musky scent of him wafting up to your nose. Ubbe overlaps the edges over your chest with a careful furrow between his brows, then wraps one arm, bear-like, over your shoulders and tucks you against his side. You think he might have even inhaled the scent of your hair before turning back to the path and pulling you along again.

Your destination becomes obvious when you see it. If your heart wasn’t already fluttering from the way Ubbe’s body keeps brushing against yours as you walk, it certainly leaps now as you come out into a moonlit clearing dominated by one slender tree with branches overflowing with delicate white petals. Certainly a place that Freyr would favor, a perfect choice for the festival’s romantic ritual.

Ubbe draws you up until you are standing under the tree’s fragrant branches. With a quick smile he takes you silently by the shoulders and turns you so your back is only inches from the trunk. His hands are coming toward your face. Fingers slide along your neck, and then he is fluffing out the ends of your hair that had been caught under the edge of his cloak. He takes a half step back, trailing down your loosened hair, and gazes at you like he has discovered some wonderful treasure.

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Y/N?” Ubbe asks, and you think you might float away from that very spot.

How does one even answer such a question? Your lips twist in a self-conscious smile and you drop your head, shaking “no” as you look down at your feet.

“I wish you could see what I see, right now.” Ubbe reaches up and twists a few blossoms from the branch above, steps a little closer to tuck them into your hair.

There is no way to argue with the look on his face as he beams down on you. You  _do_ feel beautiful, reflected in your prince’s eyes. It is so hard not to give in to this feeling and fall in love with him right now in this perfect moment. You try to remind yourself of the inevitable tragedy that would turn out to be.

Ubbe’s fingetips are trailing down your arms, and you think he is certain to lean in now, press his lips against yours and seal the ritual. But he doesn’t lean. The mighty prince shifts his weight forward only barely, snakes his hand under the fur-lined cloak that he had wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You feel his palm slide firmly around your waist and then he is pulling you into him. Your knees make contact first, then your belly slides against his hip as he tucks you against himself, other hand steadying on your shoulder as you find a new center of balance shared with his.

The fluttering in your limbs is almost unbearably sweet as Ubbe gazes down at you from mere inches away, the corner of his lips upturned with some emotion that looks deeper than happiness. His eyes are somehow both eager and reassuring as they search yours, his fingers twitching a little as he clutches you to him. Only then does he lean down. You are so close that it takes just a turn of his head. HIs lips part as he descends and you ready yourself to feel them upon your own.

Still he hesitates, your open mouths brushing past each other with only the barest of touches. Your breath escapes in a little sigh and you feel his lips twist in a smile as they hover over your own. He nips at your bottom lip and the thrill that runs through your body makes you glad that he’s holding you; suddenly you feel quite weak. Finally Ubbe seals his mouth against yours, pressing with firm lips something that is at last certain to count as a kiss. It feels better than you have ever allowed yourself to imagine it would be with him. It feels like this is the first time you have ever actually been kissed properly.

You know that the ritual is complete now. Is the rushing in your ears coming from Freyr’s blessing or from the movement of Ubbe’s lips? His job is finished but your prince does not stop. He cups your jaw just under your ear and presses more firmly, tongue licking across your bottom lip.

You pull your head back, suddenly feeling like you can’t breathe. Ubbe gives you some space, but does not release the arms holding your body against his.  _It’s not real,_  you try to tell yourself.  _It’s only tradition, he volunteered to kiss you out of pity._  It’s hard to believe any of those things but the doubts still stab you. You try to swallow them; your heart is safer that way.

Ubbe’s brows knit together, like he’s just thought of something concerning.

“What?”

“The gods may not have been watching,” he says, peering up at the sky like he could possibly judge that sort of thing. His heated gaze drops back down on you like a stone plummeting in water. “We had better do it again, just to be sure they did not miss it.”

You have time to take in half a breath before Ubbe descends on you again, fitting his mouth over yours and teasing at your lips which melt all too willingly under his passion. He inhales sharply through his nose, pressed against your cheek, and your body floods with the realization of how hard he’s working to hold himself back. His hands have started traveling over your body, sculpting the curves of your waist as his hungry mouth works against yours. There is no denying it; Ubbe Ragnarsson wants you. His heart is pounding underneath your hands as you explore the planes of his chest, kiss him back with what limited skill you possess.

You find yourself retreating under the pressure of his onslaught, stepping back only to find the tree’s smooth trunk ready to support you between your shoulders. Ubbe moans into your mouth when he senses the impact, then slides his tongue past your teeth.

Your hips have started rocking together softly. His knee is pressing between your legs. You try to let go and enjoy; this is everything you were afraid you’d never get from your prince.

Well, almost everything. The terrible possibility that Ubbe only wants to love you and leave you like you have seen him do to so many other maidens still hangs in the air above you. The doubt that he may have no serious intentions, and likely with good reason, chokes at your throat as if it were a palpable cloud over this amazing moment of passion. It’s so unlikely that you could ever get married, not with the blackness on your family name. Even if you are both feeling it, this affair is doomed to be over before it even begins.

“Ubbe wait,” you finally exclaim, tearing your lips away from his and pushing both your palms against his taught stomach.

He freezes instantly, in that same familiar way his body goes slack when you tap out while you’re sparring. “It is alright, Y/N,” he soothes. He doesn’t seem surprised that you’re stopping him. “We do not have to do anything else tonight. I just—”

You speak over him, too caught up in your own train of thought. “I do not think that we should be doing this.”

Now surprise does color Ubbe’s face. “What do you mean? What reason is there to stop?”

“You really don’t care about who my father was, what he did?” Your face twists up incredulously. “I am surprised that I am even allowed to fight in your shield wall.”

Ubbe only looks confused. “Who is your father?”

Your heart sinks. He doesn’t even  _know_. That’s why he’s been so willing to pursue you. Once he knows, this will certainly all be over. You pull back, and Ubbe respects the frightened, reluctant look in your eye and lets you step away from him.

“What is it, Y/N?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady and calm, but you’re making him nervous now too.

You stare into his stunning face, blood still hot and limbs still fluttering from the intimacy you had been sharing. You find that you cannot bear to ruin everything that has just happened by talking over any hard truths tonight. You want to cling to this memory as purely as you can. “I should go, Ubbe,” you choke out. “Thank you for the kiss. Go find someone else to finish your evening with.” Someone like Alva, who said she was waiting. “I do not think my heart can take any more.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epic conclusion! Rating increases to Explicit about halfway through the chapter, fair warning!

 

  1. 


“Again.”

Ubbe huffs in frustration, rolling tension out of his sword arm. “Take a break and talk to me, Y/N.”

“ _Again,_ ” you insist through gritted teeth.

Ubbe had come upon you while you were training with your shield sisters, practicing wall maneuvers. He had stepped up to watch with a puzzling smugness plastered all over his face. It had hurt you to see him smiling like that, like everything is fine, while your heart is feeling so weak and cracked all over. Under that blooming tree you had told him why you could never be together. How could he be looking so happy now?

When you wouldn’t leave the shield wall to speak with him, your prince had grabbed a practice sword and taken your partner’s place across the feigned battle line. Now he is attempting to reason with you between blows, half his words getting lost under the clatter of wooden practice swords on heavy shields as you run drills together.

You throw his sword to the side with your heavy shield, swinging your arm around to strike at his exposed middle. Ubbe’s free arm is faster, landing heavy on your chest and knocking you back onto the grass with an abrupt, humiliating thud.

“Y/N just _stop_ for a minute _,_ and listen to me.”

You shake your head and stand, retrieving your shield and handing the practice sword back to him. “I am going to get this one, I just need a few more tries.” You barely notice that you are almost alone; most of the fighters are off wiping their sweat and preparing to head home for their dinners.

Ubbe leans in a little closer, eyes bidding for intimacy. “I asked around about your father, Y/N.” His voice is low and urgent. “I know who he is now. And I do not care, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just talk.”

Some kind of emotion stirs behind your eyes at his words but you are too stubborn to let it in. He is being naïve. You settle into your fighting stance and motion to him. “Come at me again.” It’s not that you don’t want to be with Ubbe, not that the kisses you shared under that tree didn’t leave you _burning_ for him, but all of that only makes you more fearful than ever. Your glass heart will surely shatter when all of this inevitably falls apart.

You try leading with a different foot but again, Ubbe touches you before your counterattack can land on him. This time he pulls his punch, only tapping you when you expected to get knocked down again.

“DO NOT go easy on me!” you shout, so many of your mixed emotions pouring out with those words. A few heads turn toward you but even your friends look away quickly, eager to give you and your prince some privacy to work things out.

“Y/N, please,” Ubbe says, face twisting up with compassionate concern.

“I can get this,” you growl, setting your feet again. It’s like there’s a storm trapped inside your body and violence is the only way you can think to satisfy it. “Once more.”

Ubbe’s face twists in frustration. His next attack comes with a bellow and you can see that you are truly aggravating him with your stubbornness. Good. You twist around, fail, and he knocks you right on your ass. “Again?” he snarls down at you.

“Again,” you agree, forcing a smile as you kick up to your feet.

You shouldn’t have shown off like that, getting up in such a way that burns energy that is already running so low as Ubbe pushes you to the ground again and again. You almost forget what you’re truly upset about, your world narrowing down to this impossible maneuver and Ubbe’s giant hand forcing you down, the hard dirt hitting your ass in the same spot over and over.

Why is this so difficult? What kind of warrior do you think you are? You finally give it up when a fresh burst of pain sends hot tears stinging behind your eyes. You are _not_ going to cry in front of this man. “Why do you always stay, Ubbe?” you ask bitterly from the ground, babbling as you struggle not to break down. “Why are you giving me so much extra training? You really think that I am that terrible, huh? Worried I’m gonna be the first one cut down when the next battle starts?”

Ubbe tosses the wooden sword to the side, drops down to crouch in front of you. He is breathing as heavily as you are. You don’t look up but you imagine his face must be as soft as his voice sounds when he speaks. “Truthfully? I do it just to get to spend more time with you.”

Your heart thrills at the words but you snort out a bitter laugh. “Is that it. Then you’ve wasted that time. I know your reputation, Ubbe, and I have no interest in becoming another one of your conquests.”

You don’t know what you were expecting, but it’s not what comes next. Ubbe’s voice growls and cracks as he shouts out his reply. “What is it that you want from me, woman?!”

You finally look at him. Your prince is always patient, gentle and kind no matter how you twist and resist. Did you finally push him too far? Ubbe’s eyes are wide and he looks like he’s barely holding himself back from grabbing you.

“You kissed me back, under the tree, did you not?” he asks, face cracking with the pain of his doubts. “I did not imagine that part?”

The shield wall you’ve raised around your heart wavers at the sight of his fear. “No,” you whisper, the rushing in your ears starting to fade, “you didn’t imagine that.”

“Then…” Ubbe rocks toward you, onto his knees, reaching out for your hand. You stare at it like an animal that might bite. “Please,” he says, “stop running from me. We can figure this out.”

You settle your weight onto the hip that isn’t screaming in pain from training, letting your body fall closer to Ubbe’s as you sit down and show him you are listening. Swallowing the fear crowding around your throat, you lift your hand to meet his and he quickly engulfs your fingers between his own. You are so tired of running from him. Nothing you do seems to dissuade the prince, and nothing ever stops the soft, desperate hope beating against your own chest. You are too exhausted now to do anything but let this handsome fool take your heart in his hands.

“You said…” he trails off, and you wait for him to finish. “You told me to find someone else, that night.” He says your name like a plea, fixing you with wide blue eyes. “Y/N, I do not want anyone else. My thoughts are filled with you, I cannot even _see_ any other women. I will have you, or no one. What your father tried to do to my family means nothing to me.”

At the mention of your father, shame bubbles through you like it always does, cool and sickly. Your heart had been swelling but your family name was like a cage around it, preventing you from blooming fully. “Can you really trust a traitor’s daughter, Ubbe?” you bark back. “I remember you standing on the platform when he was executed, he and the others who tried to overthrow your mother that year. Thirteen years old and such a sneer on your face. My mother was grateful you did not banish us from Kattegat entirely, but we have always tried to keep our heads down since then. I remember how you looked down at us. How can you say now that you—” you cut yourself off, before you dare to mention love.

Ubbe’s face is wavering, caught between sympathy, shame, and surprise. “I do remember you now. A skinny little girl, face covered in tears.” He pauses, squeezing your hand. “I am sorry I did not look on you more kindly then; you were losing your father. I was just a boy, ignorant and proud.”

“You were trying to look like a King, in your father’s absence. You were meting out justice that was right and true.” You take a deep, shaky breath, letting your hair fall across your face and hide your eyes. “I do not defend what my father did, and I do not agree with him. I know he deserved his execution.”

Ubbe cocks his head, trying to look under the curtain. “If that is true, then why do you think you need to keep paying for his mistakes? Your service to my family in the face of all that redeems everything.” His thumb is smoothing over the back of your hand, repeated circles as he tries to reach you. “You have fought well to defend us in the past years, and I know you will make us proud in the raids this summer. You have nothing to worry about.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him finally, the swell of hope long beaten back rising almost painfully against your ribs. “Truly?”

Ubbe widens his eyes, holding your gaze firmly with his own. “Y/N, no one here holds your family’s history against you. The people our age barely even remember it. You, and your mother and sister, are valuable, and respected. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

 Could it really be all alright? Is there actually nothing at all standing between you? “Ubbe…” You search his eyes, finding nothing but compassion, and eagerness. “I do not deserve you,” you try one last time to explain.

His brow creases just a little. “Nonsense. You are loyal, and deep, ferocious and true. I can see how much love there is in you, for your family, for your home… I can only hope and pray that one day some of that love will be for me.” He shifts his grip around your fingers, pulls his body a few more inches closer. He wants to kiss your hand but he hesitates. “I cannot even think about my future these days without seeing you by my side,” he adds softly.

You drop your eyes from his as another bitter thought occurs to you. “You are mistaken. Anyway, your mother will never accept me. Surely she—”

Ubbe interrupts you with a kiss, surging forward and pressing his mouth to yours. The sweet sensation cuts through your raging doubts, though it is over far too quickly. Ubbe pulls his head back and says your name sternly. “Y/N. I just told you that I am in love with you. Do you really think you know how I feel better than I do?”

There is twinkle in his eye, a bit of the teasing Ubbe you are used to, and it draws half a smile from your fearful lips as you shake your head “no” under his heavy gaze.

“Then shut up.” He plants another soft kiss on you. “And tell me how _you_ feel about _me._ I do not think I can bear the suspense any longer.”

You look up into his hopeful eyes, as clear as the peaceful early morning. You sigh as the last resistance inside of you finally melts. “I long for you, Ubbe Ragnarsson,” you confess, watching his face brighten at your words. “I dream of lying in your arms every night, no matter how hard I try to fight it.”

Ubbe lets out a strangled moan, wrapping those arms around you now and gathering you into himself. “Never fight it again.” He squeezes you almost uncomfortably tight, breathing in the scent of your hair. He whispers into your temple: “From now on I want you to come to me with every one of those little dreams.” He nuzzles your face until you look at him, fire smoldering in his bright eyes. “No more holding back.” He kisses you sweetly, lips pursing and nipping at yours. “No denying your desires.” He licks across the seam of your lips and you open to him, his taste already familiar after that night under the blooming tree, and how often you had revisited that memory.

Lips still locked, Ubbe pulls you to the side and you both collapse to the ground with your limbs tangled together. “I am all yours,” he murmurs against your mouth, “I want to give you anything you could think to ask for.” His eyes are soft and sincere, staring into your depths as his fingers stroke through your hair, then start running down the sides of your body. Your bellies and hips press together with equal force, though Ubbe’s urgency is starting to win, tipping you closer and closer to lying on your back beneath him. The sharp, rich scent of him overwhelms you, the warmth of his body soaking into your muscles, letting everything within you finally relax. He can be yours. You can be his.

You stroke up the back of Ubbe’s neck as you try to lose yourself in his kiss, playing with the stubble at the base of his skull. It’s a little hard to believe you are really here, and yet it feels like you were made for nothing else. Your breaths mingle, coming quick and heavy now as your noses slide past each other, mouths nipping and devouring. One of Ubbe’s hands starts to work its way under your armor, pressing at the tender flesh of your waist. A delicious fire is building between your legs but your insecurities begin to spiral again.

You have never done anything like this before. You are suddenly very conscious of how exposed you two are, rolling around on the ground in the middle of the empty training yard. At any moment someone could come through and interrupt you. The tough leather of your armor creaks as Ubbe does his best to bypass it; there is grit under your hand as you rub it over the nape of his neck. You are both dirty and sweaty from sparring. He clearly wants to take your clothes off and all you can think about is how bad you might smell if you let him. Not exactly how you pictured your first time with your prince.

“Ubbe.”

His body goes still at your tone. You are not sure what you meant to say and he gives you time to collect your thoughts, settling himself on his elbows. His gorgeous face hovers over yours as his eyes brim with the patience and kindness that doomed you to fall in love with him in the first place.

“I do not wish to push you too fast,” he reassures softly, though you can see the lust caged behind his better nature. He will let that beast loose when you are ready for it, that much is certain. “We can go back to the hall, share a meal at my table.”

A fresh spike of anxiety rushes in at that thought. Being with Ubbe is going to mean _being with Ubbe,_ everyone watching and commenting on you carrying on with a prince, sharing a table with _Queen Aslaug_ … You shake your head. “I do not want to go to the hall right now.” You take a deep breath, clutch at his waist in a quick embrace as he smiles down on you. “It is just that…we have been training all day. We stink. I don’t want to be like _this_ the first time you…” you trail off self-consciously.

“We can go down to the stream,” Ubbe suggests, lowering his lips to your cheek. “Bathe each other.” He traces the shell of your ear. “I want to wash your hair, run my fingers through it.”

Your breath catches; you feel your body begin to tremble. It sounds so wonderful, but so terribly intimate. Can you really let the prince be so close? It is hard to feel like this is even real.

Ubbe’s soft kisses are turning to nips, scrapes of teeth against the side of your neck as your bodies start to rock together in their own rhythm again. You do want him, cannot imagine walking away from this, but the fear of new experience is almost paralyzing. “Yes,” you all but whisper above his soft hair.

He lifts his head to look at you closely one more time, make sure that you really mean it. His chiseled cheeks crack into an eager grin and he pulls you to your feet.

 

Ubbe’s hands coax and pull at you as you make your way together down to the bank of the slow-moving stream that runs past the far end of the training yard. About a half-mile down, the clear water will join the small river that runs past Kattegat into the fjord, but right here the little stream is both private and calm. There is a strip of sandy mud at the bank that Ubbe draws you down toward, a section free of rocks or other obstacles that might prevent young lovers from bathing comfortably.

Now that you are here you feel shy again. Ubbe gives you some space, proceeding on ahead and stripping his own clothing as he goes. The muscles in his back ripple as he lifts his tunic and tosses it carelessly to the side. The low light of early evening makes his pale skin almost glow, like you are following some kind of godling down to the water. Perhaps this idle thought is not too far from the truth; supposedly the blood of heroes and perhaps even the Allfather himself runs through his veins. The pull this man has on you has certainly been close to magical. Irresistible. Fated.

You turn your back as Ubbe bends to strip his pants off, more for your own modesty than his as you carefully disrobe yourself. Your clothes all end up in a neat pile on a convenient little stump as you hear him splash into the water.

He calls your name. It is time to turn around. He is probably looking at your bare ass already. Communal bathing happens all the time but you cannot recall a time that you were sure Ubbe had seen you naked before. The moment feels important.

When you turn you can’t help but hold your arms in front of you, screening your chest and the dark hair between your legs without trying to look like that was what you were doing. Ubbe is covered up to his arms in the water; he must be kneeling. The cool blue reflection of the sky obscures your view beneath the surface.

Something in his face cracks when he looks at you. It’s as if he had been trying to act casual but the mere sight of your body breaks through any possibility of playfulness. He says your name again like it’s a curse, pained-looking eyes traveling down your curves and back up to worship your face. “Come,” he asks softly, lifting his arms like you two are enacting some kind of ancient ritual rather than just washing the day’s labors away.

You pick your way down the wet, sandy bank, careful in your bare feet. You try not to feel self-conscious under Ubbe’s glittering gaze. He is making you feel like half a goddess yourself and you tell yourself it’s alright to get swept away in that. The water is cold on your ankles but not unbearable. You are confident you will adjust to it quickly.

Ubbe stands to take your hand as you get closer; the water is actually hip-deep on him there, and your mouth falls open at the sight of his chiseled hip-bones leading into the lapping water, the top of a dark trail of hair leading you to imagine something else that has to be so close to the surface it is likely to pop up at any moment. Especially given the way the boy is looking at you.

Ubbe’s head tips toward you as you step up close, your body already desperate to steal some of his warmth. The water reaches all the way to your waist out here, in a cold line that makes you gasp and shiver. His eyes flash with a glint of the wolf that is his namesake as he draws your giggling self back into the circle of his arms.

“It is so _cold,_ Ubbe,” you squeal, rethinking your conclusion about how tolerable the water’s temperature may be. Though you remain committed to cleansing yourself before you let Ubbe explore any more of your body. “Maybe this will be just a quick wash.” You furtively scrub your hand between your legs, hoping the water will freshen your scent. Finding instead that your body is already wildly sensitized; you almost make yourself moan as you slip your fingers hastily between your folds.

“I find getting in all at once to be the least torturous option,” Ubbe says, and that is all the warning you get before his arms close tightly around your body and he is twisting you down to dunk you. You get one good scream out of your shocked lungs before the cool water closes over your head. Ubbe’s arms turn from tormentors to saviors just as quickly as he rescues you from his own foul play, pulling you back above the water line and helping you get your feet back under you again.

“Bastard!” you scream, banging your fist half-heartedly against his solid chest. He’s holding you so close that the pebbled flesh of one of your almost-painfully-hard nipples brushes against his skin, causing you both to pause and look down with speeded breath. You giggle and drop down under the water again, squirming out of his grip.

“But it feels better now, does it not?” Ubbe justifies, flashing you a cheeky smile as he too drops down to your eye level, though he lets your bodies stay separate under the water, for now.

You make a show of scrubbing at the skin of your arms and neck, reminding him why you are enduring this chill in the first place. Ubbe splashes at his own cheeks and shoulders, cleanses specks of dirt from his face, but not once does he take his hungry eyes off of you. He steps closer and you startle.

“No tricks,” he promises, splaying his hands out to demonstrate his harmlessness. “Your hair,” he explains as he draws closer. “Let me take that braid down, and rinse it out for you.”

The two of you move deeper into the water, so that you can lean back against the support of one of his arms and immerse your head all the way to the hairline. As always Ubbe is a master at matching your comfort level. As he runs his fingers across your scalp you have a chance to get used to being so close to him, naked, to relax in his arms and let him care for you. All without the pressure of any sexual actions.

Not that this isn’t turning out to be an entirely erotic experience. Ubbe’s strong hands massage your scalp, tug masterfully at your hair as he combs out the snarls. He hums in pleasure any time your bodies brush together, and his eyes work over your face like he would be happy to do this for hours. Just to be close to you.

When your tresses seem mostly untangled you surge forward and kiss him, shaky but entirely ready to pick things up where you left off in the yard. Pressing your bare wet skin against him feels like coming home to a land you’ve never seen. His flesh is so solid, smooth, warm. The soft hair on his chest and belly is so inviting, practically begging you to run your fingers through it, to rub the skin of your own torso back and forth across it as Ubbe claims your mouth with teeth and tongue.

The water stops feeling so cold as the heat grows between you. You find your body winding itself around his as Ubbe mouths down the side of your neck, soft growls coloring his every breath. An unfamiliar hardness brushes against your thigh as you press yourself close; that must be his manhood. You’ve seen them before of course but you have never felt one, not like this. It makes the breath catch in your throat. Your body pauses as your mind catches up to the moment.

“What is it?” Ubbe murmurs, noticing your hesitation. His lips on your neck slow but do not stop.

You press your trembling hand to his stomach, just below the navel, and slowly start sliding it down. “I have never…” you whisper, shy but determined to embrace this new experience.

Ubbe’s answering growl is a peculiar mixture of arousal, frustration, resignation, and sympathy. “We do not have to do this right now,” he offers. “I do not want to pressure you.”

You answer only with the continued press of your hand, dipping under the water as your fingertips swirling through thick hair, not stopping until they wrap around the marvelous root of him. After all the uncertainty, all the time you spent resisting him, you can’t imagine stepping away from Ubbe Ragnarsson now, don’t think you are ever going to stop exploring his body. Your fingers slide on their own, up and around his thickness, and you feel your whole being awaken, pulled toward this new part of him like a moth to a flame.

No more hesitation. You have always wanted your first time to be something memorable, and nothing seems more fitting than making love out in the embrace of the wilderness, under open sky the same color as your new lover’s eyes. “I want you now, Ubbe,” you murmur, watching those eyes crackle and darken as he moans under the caress of your exploring hand.

You find that you quite like the feeling of his cock, tracing your fingertips up the smooth shaft, seeing Ubbe’s face contort as you explore the blunt head. You have never touched one of these but you have heard plenty from the other girls you train with. Too much, probably. You are not at a loss for ideas. He groans as your hand dives down to fondle the softly-furred sack that holds his balls, floating weightless under the water.

Ubbe’s hands run up and down your sides as you play, giving you small chills as he drags water up over your drying skin. He explores your hips and the curve of your back as you play with his cock and balls, making them tighten, making them yours. Whenever he squeezes your flesh suddenly, gives a growl or a little gasp, you know you are on to something that he likes. His kisses are sloppy, distracted. You have always found Ubbe to be so composed; it is a real pleasure to watch him unravel and quake under your hands.

The heat within your own body is starting to coalesce into a tingling between your legs, stronger than any you have felt before. You feel an impulse to guide that thick shaft into the crease of your thighs. You decide not to fight it. Ubbe groans when he realizes what you are doing, gathering you up in his arms as you slide his tip across the closed lips of your sex beneath the water. It just feels good to hold him there, so close; though after a moment you do not really want to be standing anymore.

You look up at him, intending to request that you move to the riverbank, but find the words dying on your tongue as you get lost in his brilliant eyes. Ubbe is entirely overwhelmed in appreciating this moment of closeness with you, his arms cradling your shoulders as he presses the line of your body against his, nestling his cock between your closed thighs in the sweetest promise of what is to come. He says your name softly, just the way you want to hear it for the rest of your lives, and kisses you with a tenderness that surpasses even what he showed you under the blooming tree.

Your head spins; you are almost clinging to him. It feels fantastic and a little bit frightening, like you are losing yourself. You clench your thighs together and Ubbe’s entire body shudders. The soft flow of the water, stealing your weight, is not helping. You need to get grounded. “Ubbe,” you break the kiss to murmur against your lover’s lips mischievously as an idea occurs to you. “Catch me if you can.” Time for one last training exercise. You twist from his arms and splash off toward the smooth part of the riverbank.

Ubbe keens like a beast interrupted at its meal. The water crashes as you hear his larger body moving in pursuit. You get only one foot on dry land before he catches you, his arm striving to wrap around your waist. You don’t make it easy for him though; how could you? Your entire courtship has been sparring. You can’t just melt in his arms now. You twist and struggle and end up straddling him on the muddy ground, though he has both your arms pinned against his chest when the whir of movement comes to a rest.

You stare at each other, breathing hard through wide smiles. Ubbe’s mouth twists and you feel something tap against the back of your spread thigh. He’s flexing some kind of way that makes his cock bounce against your ass, like it’s begging for your attention. You giggle and Ubbe releases your arms, pulling your mouth down to meet his with both hands burying themselves in your wet hair.

You melt into his kiss and Ubbe takes that as an invitation to flip you over, rolling to press your back into the soft ground and settling his hips on top of yours. You haven’t made it very far onto the shore; your intermingling feet are still in the water. He rubs his face across your chest, gathering one of your breasts up in his hand and running his tongue across the nipple. “I want to devour you whole,” he murmurs, opening his mouth wide to suck and nip at you. You can’t help but squirm at the overwhelming, almost-ticklish sensation that is also shooting white-hot arousal straight to your core.

Your lover props himself on his elbow and his other hand runs down your belly, seeking the slit between your legs, though he has to lift his grinding hips away to reveal it. His warm hand slides over your needy sex, cupping you softly in his palm as his eyes catch yours again. “You have truly never had a man before?” he asks.

You shake your head slowly, too overcome for words. His touch feels like everything you have ever wanted, and you find no hesitation inside yourself now. You are eager for him to start to explore; even just resting the feeling of a hand other than your own down there is already amazing.

He tips his head, like he does when he is trying to show someone he is sincere. “I will take the time to ready you,: he promises, “so that there is very little pain.” His fingers start to curl and stroke over the wetness at your opening, swirling through your folds without diving fully inside.

“Ubbe,” you moan at his masterful touch. His thumb finds the bud of your clit and rocks over it as his fingers continue to press lower. Your hands scramble over his shoulders, your stomach curling up at the intensity of the sensation, so similar and yet so different from when you have done this yourself.

“Relax,” he soothes, urging you to lay back down, slowing the work of his hand. He presses small kisses to your cheek, your neck, the corner of your mouth as he builds the delicious heat under his thumb. He is watching your face closely as he tries different angles and speeds. “Is that how you like it?” he asks with adorable urgency in his voice when you squeeze your eyes shut and toss your head.

“A little harder,” you whisper, feeling the knot of pleasure tightening already.

Ubbe moans and presses in, fingertips probing at your opening at the same time. The first one plunges in easily, a welcome intrusion that distracts from the pleasure at your bud but widens it somehow, expanding the intensity of the sensation Ubbe is building inside of you.

You gasp when his second finger joins the first, increasing the pressure stretching your opening, and you curl yourself around his body again. Ubbe hums against your cheek soothingly, speeding his pace on your clit to help you get used to the feeling of being penetrated. You feel so exposed and yet so safe as he draws sensations you had never quite imagined before out of the depths of your sex.

There is some place against your inner wall that sends jolts of ecstasy down your legs and up your chest whenever he brushes against it. Ubbe seems to pick up on this quickly through the spasms of your body, honing in on it, rubbing faster and faster until his thumb leaves your clit behind and he is fucking you with his fingers. The pleasure is so bright and strong you can barely allow it, the intensity causing you to bury your face in Ubbe’s powerful chest. Your eyes screw shut as moans that sound more like yelps drag themselves across your throat. This must be what sex will feel like. Your hands find his face. “I think I am ready for you, Ubbe.”

His eyes flash but he shakes his head. “I want to make you come first,” he insists, pulling his head from your hands as he scoots down the line of your body, pressing sloppy, worshipful kisses to your flesh as goes, never stopping the movement of the hand buried inside you.

“What—” you start to ask, but when his mouth closes over your clit there is no need for any more words. The pleasure of his hot breath and lapping tongue are self-explanatory as your arch your back and claw at his head, one hand wrapping around the base of his thick braid.

The way you squeeze and tug at his hair must be guiding him, because Ubbe builds your orgasm under his tongue and thrusting fingers so well that you are almost surprised when you feel it beginning to crest so soon, filling your whole body to the brim with some unnamable joy. Your shield sisters had coached you to expect this to be more difficult for him to accomplish but Ubbe is bringing you there with ease, humming and moaning against your body all the while like this is just as pleasurable to him as it is to you.

When the wave finally breaks your legs twitch uncontrollably, your whole body spiraling against the anchor of Ubbe’s steady, continuous pressure on top of and inside of you. He holds steady and strong against those points until the world stops spinning, letting you shudder against him until the movement of your hips against him has squeezed the last shocks of pleasure out of that overwhelming climax.

Finally Ubbe lifts his head, dropping it with a contented sigh as his cheek presses against your outstretched thigh. “Gods, Y/N,” he breathes against your skin. “That was amazing.”

“I should be saying that to you,” you quip, voice a little gravelly after all the moaning and sobbing he just made you do. You tug at his head until he pulls himself up alongside you, wraps his arms around you again. Your hand goes right for his cock, so hard it is practically throbbing. He growls at the contact, some throaty, primal noise that speaks what he wants to do next much better than words ever could. “You have waited so patiently,” you say, surprised at his restraint when his tension is now so apparent.

“And I will wait as long as you need me to, if you are not ready yet,” Ubbe says solemnly, though his voice is thick and his body is rolling languidly closer to yours.

“I want you, Ubbe,” you say clearly for him, pulling at his limbs, urging him to press himself on top of you. “Take me. _Claim_ me.”

With a shuddering growl he pushes his cock between your legs, sliding it across your swollen and welcoming folds, already so wet with his spit and the slick of your own arousal. His face has gone almost wild with his need, but his hands spasm on your shoulders just as he starts to press himself in. You see him remind himself to start slowly so as not to overwhelm you, not to hurt you too much. There are so many ways in which you’ve given him the power to shatter you.

He reaches down to make sure he is lined up well, then bends in for one deep, tender kiss before he starts to move. The pressure is greater than you felt with his fingers but your body lets him slide in smoothly; you can almost feel yourself opening to welcome him. Unfolding from somewhere deep inside. Tears spring up in the corners of your eyes as Ubbe comes home to rest completely inside of you.

His face has gone slack, eyes boring into yours as the feel of you seems to overwhelm him too. Your name falls from his lips almost like he is surprised, almost as if he has never felt like this either. “Y/N, you are…” he trails off into a growling sigh and presses his forehead to your cheek, like it’s too much to even look at you. He sucks in a shuddering breath, braces himself against the ground, and starts to pull himself back. He slides almost all the way out of you before groaning and pressing slowly back in, savoring every inch and giving you time to adjust to the way he’s filling you. “How do you feel?” he whispers against your skin.

You almost forgot there was supposed to be pain. He must have prepared you exceptionally well. “Incredible,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms more tightly around his body as he sheathes himself fully within you again.

“Good,” he growls. “I am not going to be able to stay gentle for much longer.”

You feel yourself clench around him in response to those words, and Ubbe moans like he really is about to lose all control. His hips start to move faster and you whimper, pleasure exploding out from those eager thrusts. “Gods, Ubbe,” you wail, wrapping your legs around his waist, inviting him deeper. The intensity of his cock filling you is a sensation cousin to pain but not really, sparking a longing only for more; faster, deeper. He increases his pace and it feels better somehow that way, more tolerable even as it becomes more intense. You close your eyes and howl as he pounds into you, burying his nose into your neck, then his lips, then his teeth. He growls into your flesh until you have to push him away, worried he’s about to break skin with the way he’s gnawing on you. His eyes flash down at you as if you challenged him with that redirection, more beast than man for a moment before he comes back to himself long enough to soothe the bite with a soft kiss and another helplessly aggressive moan.

You growl back up at him and twist your hips to start meeting his thrusts with equal force. The longer this goes on the better it feels and you are ready to start answering his lust with your own.

The more you move the more Ubbe seems to crumble, overcome with the pleasure your body is giving him. His brows crease, his eyes go distant, but he seems to be fighting himself, struggling to keep focused on your face as your cunt sends him almost to the gates of Valhalla. The throaty growls turn to quiet, borderline-desperate moans as your hips find the perfect crashing rhythm together. His voice breaks on your name as he calls it one last time before his eyes roll back into his head and he screws them tightly shut. He keens out his orgasm as he grinds his hips into yours, burying himself as deeply as he can while he moans the aftershocks of his climax into the crook of your neck.

The two of you remain locked like that for a long time, both loathe to acknowledge the end of this glorious moment. The pressure in your cunt slowly abates as Ubbe grows softer but you like to feel him there, the tension turning to comfort, his whole body embracing and filling yours.

“That was incredible,” Ubbe breathes against your neck. You feel him grimace suddenly and he props himself up far enough to look at your face. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He moves to withdraw his cock from your body and you stop him, not ready to let go of him yet.

“No.” The only pain you feel is the soreness at your hip from training earlier, seeping back into your consciousness now that your flurry of passion is receding. Ubbe does not look reassured, a little crease remaining between his brows. “I feel amazing,” you add, running your palms up his broad back, bringing them to rest at the sides of his face. “That was perfect.”

He smiles and collapses into your face, lips seeking yours for another slow, savoring kiss. You shift beneath him, trying to spare your bruised buttcheek, and his softened cock slips out of you on its own. A trickle of his seed follows close behind.

Ubbe lifts his head, smiles down at a point just above your eye with barely suppressed mirth. “You know, we are dirtier now than when we started this bath.” He brushes the smear of mud away with his thumb.

He’s right; you can feel the mixture of sand and mud sticking to your arms, certain that it will be coating your back and your hair when you get up. You give an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose we will have to delay our dinner just a little bit longer.”

You both laugh. “I am sure something was saved for us, and I am sure that it is already cold.”

You picture the meal that must be finishing up at the hall by now, Ubbe’s brothers at the high table trading insults while his mother looks on impassively. “I do not want to go back yet,” you say more softly, pulling Ubbe closer to you.

He hums, the warmest smile softening his face. “Mother is going to love you,” he promises, guessing at the reason for your hesitation. “They will all love you. You have nothing to fear.”

You try to smile bravely for him. He cannot truly take your apprehension away, but you try and make yourself believe him.

Ubbe sighs and presses his forehead against yours. “I can barely believe I am really holding you. I have wanted this for so long.”

Your smile deepens as you think of how you feel exactly the same way.

“Promise me you are done running. That you will embrace me again tomorrow, that you truly want to stand at my side from now on,” Ubbe says, the intensity in his low voice surprising you.

“Of course, Ubbe! How can you even doubt?”

Ubbe smiles, a little sadly. “My heart is a little more fragile than it may appear. I am trusting you now, to keep it safe.”

Your own heart swells as you imagine the mighty Prince Ubbe, as nervous as you have been for all of this time. How could you have been so blind to it? “Of course,” you say. “I promise I won’t let it break.”


End file.
